The True Knight
by WolverineKILLS
Summary: The Hound discovers Sansa and Ser Dontos. Turns out he's got a plan of his own. Shifting storyline between past and present.
1. S 1

Howling winds and angry waters ruled the night. This storm was alive. Wave after wave crashed against the ship from all sides, a deafening and terrible sound that Sansa prayed would soon end. She clutched the Hound's tunic and pressed her face into his neck. The pulse of his heart pounded like the thunder outside.

"Little bird," he rasped, "I should be up there…"

Her grip on him tightened. "N-no," she pleaded, frightened and desperate. "Please. Don't leave me."

"They need my help," he said. But he did not move, and nor did his arm. He held her close.

"So do I," she whispered. "Please. You paid good coin to board as a passenger. You're no sailor. Please, don't leave me." The ship climbed a wave, rising higher and higher until it lifted weightlessly into the air. Sansa gasped and cried out loud. As they caught another wave and plunged back down into the sea, the Hound's hold on her tightened, securing her against him so she would not roll away. The oil lamp latched to the wall beside her tiny cot flickered angrily, casting them constantly in light and then shadow, oil and flame swishing madly around inside.

When the terrible winds had first begun, Sansa had begged the Hound to come to her cot. She always did. But this was the worst storm yet, as violent as any war. As usual he had slipped wordlessly onto the mattress beside her, laying his head down upon her pillow, his terrible face so near, almost too near. The anger was gone from his eyes. "Are you frightened?" she had asked him.

He said that he wasn't. But Sansa wasn't so sure.

The awful sound of waves crashing onto the deck above was at times deafening. Sansa wished they would stop, but they never did. With each wish she made, the storm only seemed to grow worse. _Why did I ever leave King's Landing? _she wondered again and again. _Why did I ever let him take me away? _

Suddenly the boat tilted and the Hound rolled onto her, his massive body covering hers like a blanket, momentarily crushing her beneath him. "We're going to die," she whispered, staring up at his ruined face. "Aren't we?"

The sea answered her question first, launching the ship from its surface before furiously claiming it once again, its watery claws toying with them like a cat with a sparrow. The Hound rolled away from her, settling himself once more by her side.

"Aren't we?" Sansa said again, more forcefully. Tears stung at her eyes. The oil lamp flickered, and she feared the light would go out for good. She did not want to die in darkness. _Please, _she pleaded to any god willing to listen, _please, do not take our light._

The Hound just stared at her carefully. "If we do," he said, "it'll be a better death than one suffered at Joffrey's hand."

If he'd meant for those words to be comforting, he had been terribly wrong. Sansa began to cry. "I don't want to die," she said, pleading as though her fate were his to decide. "Please, I don't want to die…"

Another wave spun them around and their foreheads bumped together hard, the sudden sting of it filling her eyes with a flash of blinding light. Over the wrath of the waves Sansa thought she heard a man shouting from the deck up above. There was fear in that shout; there was no hope left. She thought of the entire ship succumbing to the waters, slipping below its frothing surface. She imagined the angry darkness and the coldness swallowing them up whole. She started to tremble.

"I don't want to die," she told the Hound again.

His fingertips pressed into her back, holding her tight as the boat tilted dangerously onto its side. "It'll be over quick," he rasped.

"Not nearly quick enough," she said, their noses bumping as the ship rocked. "Promise that you won't let me drown."

The Hound's whole face twisted, looking so ugly, like nothing she had ever seen before. There was an apology in his eyes; there was regret. Whatever happened on this night would be something far beyond his control.

"Your dagger," she told him, her voice quaking with the ship. A long, low groan echoed through the ship's hull then, a call of death. Sansa's hand slid down to the Hound's swordbelt, running slowly along the belt's smooth leather until she felt his blade's hilt at her fingertips.

He pushed her hand away. "No," he said sharply.

"Please," she begged. "It would be a mercy. I-I don't want to drown..."

His mouth tightened and twitched. Another wave suddenly threw the ship from the sea, and they both lifted right off of the mattress, slamming into the low ceiling, the bunk above them—_his _bunk. Sansa whimpered as the ship settled back down, rocking fiercely.

Tears fell from her eyes, running down her cheek. The Hound surprised her when he lifted his hand up to gently brush them away. She stared at him, and he stared back. Only the oil lamp blinked.

Another wave shook the boat, and their faces bumped together. The Hound's good eye was watching her. She cried to herself, not wanting to die. _Not this way, not with him._ "Promise me," she whispered. "Please…"

Again the lantern flickered, casting a terrible shadow between them. She whimpered once more. "I won't let you drown," he finally grumbled at her.

She was about to thank him, but then the ship suddenly tilted. The Hound's burned lips touched hers, the contact so quick it may not have been deliberate. Her breath locked in her throat and she froze. She forced her tears to blur his hideous face from view. Long, slow seconds passed by, and the vicious swirling of the boat seemed to slip away like a fading dream. After a few moments the Hound kissed her again.

As much as she wanted to, Sansa did not push him away. His kisses were as brief as they were awkward. She pressed her eyelids shut, trying to escape the stiffness of his twitching mouth. Without warning, a deep sob escaped her, and the Hound's face snapped back, away from hers.

"I've never kissed anyone before," she whispered, crying as she said it. "I don't know how." _And now I never will._ She had never imagined a fate as terrible as this one.

"Little bird," he rasped, moving close to her once more. The scars on his face were so awful that for a moment Sansa found herself wishing the lantern's flame _would_ extinguish. His burned lips touched hers again, and this time they lingered there. She closed her eyes, creating her own darkness, swallowing the sobs of disgust that threatened to choke her each time his mouth would twitch. With every second that passed, the swell of the storm seemed to subside, until, finally, it disappeared completely.

Eventually the ship started to rock gently beneath them. Sansa suddenly realised the change and pulled away from him. "Listen," she said softly.

The Hound kept his face close, listening only for a moment before kissing her again.

Outside men were shouting, and she could hear their voices loud and clear. The night was over. "We survived," she whispered, pulling away from him and laughing to herself. The Hound gently nuzzled his burned face in the crook her neck. "Sandor. We're alive... you can let go now."


	2. KL 1

Sansa dodged the wet, groping lips, and instead gave Ser Dontos a kiss on his unshaven cheek. After bidding him good night, she lingered in the godswood, watching as he disappeared through the trees. The southern sky was thick with smoke, blotting out the soft glow of the crescent moon and all of the stars. No matter how hard she willed herself not to cry, tears came to her eyes anyway. It seemed all she had been doing lately was crying. It was uncomely, she knew, but she could not help it.

Wiping the tears from her cheek with the back of a sleeve, Sansa made a move to leave, but then the flicker of movement caught her eye and she froze on the spot. "S-ser?" she trembled, wondering if it was Dontos returning. Oh, how she prayed it was Dontos! There was no answer, and the sadness she felt quickly gave way to fear. Her spine began to tingle and her bowels loosened some. How long had she lingered here? Not very, she figured, only a minute at the most. That was long enough.

The night smelled of burning wood from Stannis's men trying to smoke out Tyrion Lannister's clansmen from the forests, and the looming promise of a battle was thick in the air. As silently as she was able, Sansa took a careful step to leave, wanting little more than the comfort of her chambers at that moment. A twig suddenly snapped and Sansa froze, her insides turning to ice. What if whoever was nearby had heard the words she and Dontos had spoken? Dread consumed her. "Wh-who's there?" she called tremulously. "Sh-show yourself."

As soon as she heard the familiar, rasping laughter, her legs went weak. Sandor Clegane's hulking silhouette emerged from the shadows then, and Sansa nearly collapsed to the ground at the sight of him. Joffrey and Cersei had been right all along—she _was_ stupid! _So stupid… _It was all over now. By nightfall tomorrow her head would be on a spike. Dontos, too.

"_Show yourself,_" the Hound sang, and he laughed again, the sound as rough and grating as a sword dragging across stone. When she remained silent, he grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. "So the little bird wants to fly away."

"Let go of me," she cried meekly. "Let go!"

He ignored her plea. If anything his hold on her seemed to tighten. "Had enough of your cage, have you?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said, the words sounding forced and uncertain, even to her.

"What did I tell you about lying?" he said, roughly pulling her close enough to him so that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. She smelled sour wine on him, and struggled to pull away.

"Please! You're hurting me."

Sandor Clegane laughed, but his grip on her did loosen, if only slightly. "The little bird's grown wings. Thinks she can fly." He was just toying with her, the way a dog does a bone he means to devour. She stayed silent and averted her eyes.

"You're shaking," he rasped when she did not answer him.

"You startled me," she said. "That's all."

"You mean I scared you. And I still do."

"I-I thought I was alone."

The Hound snorted. "Can't bear to look at me. Still." He released her. "You were glad enough to see my face when the mob had you, though. Remember?"

Sansa remembered all too well. The memory of it flooded through her now, every second of those horrible moments, from the garlic smell of the man trying to pull her from her horse to the way blood pumped out of his arm after the Hound had slayed him. The image made her shudder. She now lifted her gaze and forced herself to look at Sandor Clegane's face, _really_ look. As usual his eyes were burning with cold, brutal anger. They were the worst part about his ruined face, she thought. _Not the scars, nor even the way his mouth twitches... it's his eyes._ "I-I should have come to you," she said then. "After, to thank you for saving me. I meant to. You were so brave."

"Brave," the Hound sneered. "Like a _true knight_, little bird?"

She lifted her chin with much more confidence than she felt. "Yes," she said. "Like a true knight."

He laughed again, but there was absolutely no joy in it. "Or maybe a_ fool,_" he rasped angrily. Suddenly his hand was on her wrist again, his hold on her tight and threatening. She trembled, trying to back away from him, but it did no good against his iron grip. His breath was awful, sour and stinking and thick with the heat of wine. "I've been watching you, little bird. What do you think of that? A man like me."

"I…" Sansa did not know what to say. _What does he mean?_ She looked up into the Hound's eyes, thinking for a moment she saw something more than anger there, but the look disappeared quickly, so perhaps it had been naught more than a shadow's trick.

He snorted at her silence. "That's what I thought." He released her one more time, his face brooding and dark.

Sansa wished she could turn and run, but knew her efforts to escape would be for naught—he would simply catch her in a few strides. _What does he want with me?_ It was queer how he'd not said a word about bringing her back to the castle to turn her in to Joffrey. Perhaps if she pretended to have done nothing wrong, he might also believe the ruse. Maybe he was drunk enough. "I would return to my chambers now, my lord," she said softly.

"Oh, _would you?_" The Hound chuckled darkly. "First tell the truth, little bird. Tell me all about your precious _Florian._"

Her heart sank to her toes. _He knows everything,_ she thought sullenly. There was no use in lying to him, he could sniff out a lie easily, especially one from her lips. "My lord," she said, "please…"

"_Please,_" he jeered, mocking her. "Please _what?_" Even in the dark of the godswood his eyes looked sharp and wild. Furious. She shrank away from them. From _him._

"My lord—"

"I'm no bloody lord," he angrily growled, his voice grating and harsh. "Nor am I a knight. So spare me your courtesies and get on with the truth."

"S-Ser Dontos," she began, terrified at his anger and resigning to give him what he wanted. "He… he came to me a while ago, and offered to rescue me from this place."

The Hound laughed again, and this time it sounded close to genuine. "Rescue you! Him? Gods, you believe that, little bird, and you're as much of a fool as he."

"Maybe so," she said, "but it _is_ the truth. He's my only hope." Sandor Clegane's mouth twitched. The smell of smoke in the air was more noticeable now. She briefly wondered if the mountain clans were now in retreat, and if Stannis would be attacking soon. It was strange, she thought, how at a time like this the Hound was with neither the king nor his men, but here in the godswood with her. "Are you going to take me to Joffrey now?" she asked.

There was a long moment of silence as the Hound paused to examine her face. "I should," he rasped at long last, broodingly. "I should."

"But you won't," she said carefully. She thought she saw him flinch, but could not be certain. Sansa stood up a little straighter. "You _won't,_ will you?"

The Hound's mouth twitched again. "No," he finally said.

She stood rooted to the spot, the cold fear in her bones slowly starting to melt away. Did this mean she could leave now? Go back to her chambers and try to forget this night? "Thank you," she said, a bit uncertainly.

Her gratitude only served to make him angrier. "It's not so easy as that, little bird."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I'll not see you leaving with that bloody fool."

The cold dread she'd felt suddenly returned, surging from her stomach to her throat like bile, nearly choking her. "But he… he has a _boat…_ it's all been arranged. _Please_, don't do this. I'll _die_ if I stay here!"

"Aye," Clegane said thoughtfully, "most like you will."

Just like that, her tears returned. _None of this is fair!_ She had been so close to freedom! Sansa hated every last one of them—the Queen and Ser Boros, Joffrey and his precious dog. She hoped fiercely that Stannis would come and slay every last one of them. _I would gladly watch such a slaughter._ Against her will, she began to sob.

"Bloody hell," the Hound said, "stop that." When she didn't, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. "Stop it." His voice was harsh and angry, and it was enough to stun her back into a sober silence. She wiped her tears away, feeling sullen and meek, and biting down on her quivering lips.

"I just want to go home," she said, caring nothing now for hiding the truth. "I want to see my mother, and… and I don't want to marry Joffrey. I want him _dead._" Saying that aloud suddenly made her very angry. She glared at the Hound, despising him now like never before. "If you'll make me stay here, then just kill me now and be done with it. If you don't, I'll do it myself."

His eyes flashed darkly. "The little bird's learned a new song, I see." He continued to study her face, slowly and carefully. When finally he spoke again, his rasping voice lacked the bitter anger she knew so well of him. "I could keep you safe..."

Sansa's blood went hot. Her whole body stiffened, from head to toe.

"No one would hurt you again," he continued, "or I'd kill them."

"You?" she whispered, perhaps more to herself than to him.

"Aye," he said, sounding angry again, "_me_."

"W-why would you do that?"

But the Hound did not give her a reason. Instead he stepped closer to her, and this time she could almost _taste_ the sour wine on his breath. "When Stannis attacks," he rasped, "wait for me in your chambers. I'll come for you, and take you away."

"What about Ser Dontos?"

"Go with him," the Hound said, "and you're as good as dead."


	3. S 2

Sansa stood at the ship's rail, staring out at the horizon. Which direction she was looking, she neither knew nor cared—it all looked the same. Water as far as the eye could see, and not even the hint of land. Grey clouds stretched the entire length of the sky, an endless, solemn sprawl mirroring the dull murk of the unforgiving sea. She numbly thought about her dead family, and was unable to make herself cry.

The now-gentled waters lapped against the sides of the boat. During the previous night's storm four men had been thrown overboard, swallowed up by the savage swill of the sea, lost forever. Forgotten. Sansa wished now that she had died, too. She could no longer say why she'd so desperately wanted to live. _If I jumped, _she wondered, _how long would it take? _Dusk was almost near, and no one would notice she was gone until it was too late...

No one, of course, but the Hound. He was always watching her, even when she was alone. _But if I jumped quickly, _she thought, _right now, __he'd not have time enough to stop me. _She chewed her lip and wondered how cold the autumn water really was. Her heart thudded inside of her chest. She tried to will herself to climb over the rail. Sandor Clegane had said it would be over quickly, hadn't he? _Yes, _she remembered_._ He had. _And he never lies._

Sansa's hands were gripping the side of the boat so tightly that her knuckles were bone white. In naught more than a few minutes it could all be over. A few minutes. All she had to do was jump. That was it. It could be the simplest thing she ever did in her life. _Just jump._ She chewed her lip some more, urging some courage to rise in her belly. _I can be with Mother once again, _she thought, her heart pounding wildly. _Father, too. I can ask him his forgiveness._

At the sudden sound of approaching footsteps, Sansa quickly let go of the boat's rail and her hands dropped to her sides. She had easily recognised Sandor Clegane's heavy limp, his ruined leg clomping gracelessly upon the deck's planks with each step he took. When he stopped behind her, Sansa did not turn to look at him. Instead she focused her gaze on the figurehead below, a snarling serpent with its fangs viciously bared. She missed Lady, along with everyone else.

The Hound stood quietly behind her for what seemed a very long time. With each passing second, the weight of the space between them felt heavier. Her belly grew hot at the memory of his mouth upon her own. When she recalled the way their tongues had slowly swirled, dancing to the music of their shallow breaths, her cheeks started to burn. How badly she wished she had jumped when the chance was there.

"It'd be like a thousand knives," Sandor rasped then.

Sansa went stiff at the words. She turned around. "What would?" Her voice sounded dull and disinterested—a stranger's voice.

"The water," he said, nodding out at the sea. "It'd burn almost as bad as fire." Grimacing, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

Sansa recognised his discomfort. It was impossible to miss, even though she knew he tried, futilely, to hide it. "Your leg," she said. "It's bothering you again."

"Aye," he said. "It's this salt air."

She nodded dimly and stared up at his face. Her eyes wandered slowly across his scars before coming to rest upon his ugly mouth. How something so hideously crude could have been so tender and soft was a mystery with no end. A late afternoon wind gusted, momentarily blowing Sandor's stringy hair away from his face, revealing to her the hole that should have been his ear. Repulsed, she looked away and shuddered. Something near to shame boiled up in her belly. She was glad for the fading light of day, she was ready for the darkness. Maybe she was going mad.

The Hound continued to simply stand there, as silent and unmoving as a slab of stone. If he was expecting her to say something more, Sansa thought, he would have to wait a long time. She had lost the need for conversation almost as much as she'd lost the desire to breathe. It occurred to her then that he might already be aware of this, and that's why he never left her alone—why he was _always _following her about the ship, no matter where she went. A tickle of annoyance wrenched inside her belly. Nothing had changed since King's Landing. _I'm still in a cage. Still t__rapped. _She felt like screaming. Her fists, she realised, were clenched into tight little balls.

"Little bird," he rasped, just when she had almost come to accept the weighty silence looming between them.

Her whole body tightened up. "I hate that name," she whispered, very softly. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him again. "I _hate _that name," she said, louder this time. Her voice shook, tottering dangerously close to some unseen edge.

The Hound's gaze was steely and careful. "Dinner's ready," was all he said to that. "We should go eat, while there's still food enough to be had."

_Dinner?_ _Food?!_ Something inside of her broke then, something that had been cracking for a very long time. "Did you hear me?" she said, trembling everywhere. "Do you _ever _listen?" His expression, always so angry and guarded, changed, becoming strangely uncertain. He took a slow step closer to her and extended a hand her way, which Sansa immediately smacked aside. "Don't touch me!" she snapped, the strain in her voice as undulating as the waves. "Leave me be for once!"

His mouth gave a quick twitch, and she remembered the feel of those ugly, twitching lips against her own. Tears came to her eyes at the mere thought. "I wish we'd died last night," she said, her anger giving way to a deep, bottomless sadness. He flinched, noticeably. "Oh, now you hear me? I'll say it again, just in case: I wish we were _both _dead!"

The Hound suddenly grabbed her, his hands impossibly huge as they clasped her bony and brittle arms. "Don't," he said, his mouth tight and twisted.

_Don't what? _she dolefully wondered. The answer didn't matter—_nothing_ did anymore. Exhausted beyond belief, Sansa let herself fall against him, burying her face into the soft fabric of his tunic. He held onto her, his embrace strong and unrelenting. _You had your chance, _she told herself. _And now it's gone._

By the time she finally stepped out of his arms, the whole sky was moonless and black—the _world_ was black, save for a flickering lantern high up in the crow's nest. Sandor Clegane had become a silhouette in front of her, another shadow in the night. It was almost as if she were alone. At last. "We've probably missed dinner," she mumbled. Every inch of her was as empty and cold as the dark sky. "Sorry."

"It matters not," the Hound rasped, quietly. Under their feet the ship gently rocked to and fro, to and fro, to and fro. A night wind gusted softly past them, and Sansa shivered, chilled. She wished for a hearth. For a feather bed. For her mother...

"I'm tired," she told the darkness. _I'm tired of breathing._

Sandor took her by the arm, very gently, and then led her slowly across the deck. He hobbled beside her, unable to mask the crippling heaviness of his limp. They were both shadows, Sansa realised. Shadows in the night, shadows of the past. The world had already forgotten them, even though they were still alive. Impossibly, she became a little emptier inside.

He helped her down the ladder leading below the decks, and then guided her to their laughably little cabin. Inside, alone and with the door locked behind them, Sansa crumpled onto her tiny cot and vaguely listened while the Hound fumbled to light the oil lamp that always hung upon the wall. When he succeeded, the room was cast in the soft glow of flame.

Sandor sat down on the edge of her cot, having to hunch over because his bunk above was so low. After some very long seconds of silence, he tilted his head to look her way. His scars were so awful in such dim lighting, and, unable to bear his terrible face at the moment, Sansa closed her eyes. "I'm tired," she mumbled, her voice numbed and dull. "I would sleep now."

For a few moments the Hound didn't budge. She could feel his eyes on her. Then he wordlessly stood up, and Sansa listened to him climb up into his own cot, extinguishing the lantern's flame as he did so. Sansa lay down on her back and stared into the darkness. The silence in the room echoed in her ears, and the boat continued its slow, gentle rocking. Neither were enough to lull her to sleep, though. It didn't matter how exhausted she felt.

Her dead family filled her mind. She thought mostly of her mother, and tried desperately not to imagine the terrible way in which she must have died. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, one image spilled into the next—her mother became Robb, and Robb her headless father; Bran and Rickon became charred and unrecognisable, darkened little clumps of screaming ash. A sob was building inside of her stomach, and Sansa quickly covered her mouth to stifle it.

A very long time passed. Sansa's sadness kept her wide awake. Eventually, when at last the images of severed heads and opened throats had exhausted themselves, her mind wandered to the night before. The night the ship had somehow defied the spite of the sea. It had been the Hound's kisses that had made her forget her terror—her _reality_. As repulsive as he was, when her eyes were closed he might have been anyone, even Florian himself. _Florian_. Her thoughts were straying dangerously close to madness. _My dear __Florian…_

The loneliness eating away inside of her became too much to bear. As carefully as she could, Sansa silently slipped off of her cot.

The Hound's rasping voice suddenly cut through the silence. "Going somewhere?"

Sansa shrieked. "I didn't think you were awake," she said.

The old plank wood of his cot groaned under his weight as he shifted in the darkness. "Where's the bloody lamp?" he grumbled.

"_No,_" she said quickly. Her cheeks flushed. "No light," she said, more gently. "The lamp, it isn't necessary. I-I was only wanting to lay with you. For comfort," she added.

There were a few painful seconds of silence, where Sansa almost started to feel foolish. But then the Hound shifted upon his cot. "Careful on the ladder," he rasped. "It's shaky."

The ladder was only three steps high, and she had only ever seen Sandor need _one_ of the steps to leverage himself up onto his bunk—she, however, required all three. In complete darkness, the climb felt far higher than it was, and she felt her limbs trembling. The Hound helped her when she reached the top, and then pulled her next to him.

They lay facing each other, neither one speaking a word. The warmth of his breath tickled her face, and for a while Sansa simply focused on the sound of his raspy breathing. Then, after a little more time had passed, she gently rested her palm against his chest. His heartbeat was hard and steady, and seemed to quicken at her touch. _Florian, _she thought sadly, forcing herself to remember the way his kisses had made her forget all about the storm. About _everything_. He didn't _need_ to be the Hound… he could be anyone. _And so can I__... _

Sansa hardly had to move to touch her lips to his. At first his mouth was awkward and stiff, but after a few moments she felt him give in. Their tongues reunited without hesitation. All of it was wrong, but in the darkness it didn't matter. She was not Sansa, and neither was he the Hound. They were Florian and Jonquil, as sweet as their song. She hugged the weight of his body against her as though he were a blanket, the only warmth she might ever know again. Shadows in the night. Forgotten souls. Hopeless. Florian and Jonquil.

They did not break apart until exhaustion began to take over, and even then their kisses only slowed, becoming languid and lazy. When at last she could not summon the energy to move her lips again, Sansa closed her eyes and buried her face into the crook of his neck. Florian, her true knight, sighed softly beside her.

Sansa fell asleep. And for once, she did not dream.


	4. KL 2

There was a bell ringing, far off across the city. Each knell came faster and faster. Sansa opened her eyes, groggy, her thoughts still lost in the misty realm of a dream already forgotten. When she pulled herself from her bed and stepped up to the window to peer out at the city, she was met with the first light of a shy, grey dawn. The morning air smelled of smoke, as though the whole world had burned. Suddenly Sansa was wide awake. _The whole world _did _burn. _A thousand thoughts started barrelling through her mind. _Did Stannis win? Is Joffrey dead? __Did I _truly___ sleep through it all? _How can that be?

There were more bells joining in now with the first, ringing out across the city from towers and hills in a chorus of celebration. The chimes were much different than the slow and dolorous ones that had echoed through the city when King Robert died...

All of a sudden Sansa remembered. The Hound. _He never came for me. _The truth of that stunned her—_stung _her. _He had promised he would take me away! _The night before she had even _raced_ away from Maegor's Holdfast, away from the queen and Ser Ilyn Payne's ready blade, just so she would be ready for when Sandor Clegane came._ I did as he asked, I was here during the battle, I waited._ There, next to the bed, was a small canvas bag holding a few of her things.

Fear began to rise up inside her and, as she wondered about the Hound's fate, she trembled. Perhaps she'd arrived too late, and he had already left the city, without her. Perhaps he did not believe she would show, and so he had not come at all. Maybe... _No! _she thought suddenly. Sansa did not want to think that.

But her mind thought it nonetheless. Maybe Sandor Clegane was dead...

The mere idea of it left her weak in the knees, and Sansa slunk shakily down to the floor, right there beside her window. The Hound, dead? It seemed an impossible notion. And yet… Sansa had seen the sky the night before, burning bright green with flame. The Blackwater Bay had been on fire. It was as if all the seven hells had rose up from beneath the city, all at once, and they had swallowed up everyone who had dared to defy their collective wrath.

Death by fire. Sansa's hands shook terribly. The Hound had always frightened her, that was true, but she did not think he would ever hurt her, not really, and she knew he would never lie. _He hates liars... _That he had not come for her like he had promised, it could only mean one thing. A sob she never even felt coming caught in her throat, but no tears followed. Instead she was left breathless, and numb. Emptied of all hope.

When her door suddenly flew open, Sansa was still on the ground, stunned and in a daze. Ser Dontos burst into her chambers, dancing and twirling and laughing. He was as drunk as Sansa had ever seen him, and when she stood up, he took her into his arms and whirled her about the room. "What is it?" she asked once he finally let her down. "What's happened?"

"It's done! Done! Done! Done!" Ser Dontos laughed merrily, and told her how Stannis was dead, maybe, or that he'd fled—no one was certain—and that the battle had been won. His words were drunken and merry, full of life and glee. Sansa listened, but the numbness in her heart did not lift. She suddenly saw Ser Dontos not as her Florian, but for the man he was. A drunk. A fool. The Hound had been right. She slowly backed away from him.

"How many dead?" she said, almost in a whisper. Of all the men who had lost their lives last night, there was only _one_ casualty she dreaded to hear tell of.

It had been a battle for the ages, Dontos said; he told her all about it and, as he did so, his joy did not once waver. A bloodbath, truly, but a victory nonetheless. He was delighted and gleeful and, Sansa thought briefly, very stupid.

The whole while he continued to speak, Sansa's thoughts wandered to a thousand different places_. Joffrey is still alive. We are still to be wed. _She began to chew her lip the same way Arya had always done. She thought numbly about the Hound. _He never came for me. _Her stomach clenched with fear, and with something else as well. _He promised he would come. _Sansa's heart seemed to have plunged past her stomach and right into her toes. She looked at Dontos and had to hold back her tears. _"Go with him," _rasped the Hound in her mind, _"and you're as good as dead."_

Those words frightened her. She realised she believed them. _He never came. He promised he would come, and he never lies... _

Sansa chewed her lip, trying to stifle another empty sob. She silently corrected herself. _No, _she thought sadly. _He never lied._


	5. S 3

The sky was a monotonously long, grey sprawl, even bleaker than the sea. Rain pattered down onto the ship's deck, cold little drops that penetrated cloth and skin alike, sinking right through to the bone. Still, none of it was enough to make Sansa want to move for shelter, to descend into the ship's dark, stinking bowels. She would regret the chill later, she knew, but she didn't care.

Sandor Clegane did, though. As the stream of the raindrops steadily increased, he took her, gently, by the arm. "Little bird," he said, his voice low and raspy. "Let's go under."

"No," she said, not lifting her gaze from its dull observation of the colourless, choppy waters. "If you're so cold, go on without me." But of course he didn't. He never left her side. The Hound was predictable in so many ways. He simply stood there, wordlessly, his sombre, beaten eyes watching her with a weariness she could _feel_. Sansa had grown accustomed to his constant presence, to his towering shadow always close at hand. But even with him there by her side, she was alone. Empty. There was nothing left, not of her.

His heavy cloak went around her shoulders then, taken from his own back and given to her, the same way he'd given her everything else. Sansa hated herself for lacking the energy to thank him. The remorse swirled like stale smoke inside her stomach. All she had to do was look up at him and force a smile—there was not even a need for words. But she didn't have it in her. Not anymore. Instead she simply stood there, stiller than a statue and just as silent, wearing his cloak.

The waves were whispers, each one softly shushing the next, the sound of them deafening in their perpetual monotony. A cold wind fluttered across the ship's deck, rustling her wet, stringy hair, and reminding Sansa of how dirty she really was. How far removed she had become from her old life, a life she would never know again. She longed for Winterfell. She longed for her bed.

"You're shaking," the Hound rasped then, carefully taking her hand in his own. Although Sansa was familiar with his touch by now, in the daylight it still made her flinch. She yanked her hand free from his and crossed her arms across her chest, staring numbly out at the sea. Her teeth chattered. What did it matter, to be a little cold? It didn't. Nothing did. So she said nothing.

"Sansa." Her true name. The Hound had only ever said it a few times before, usually just a breath in her ear, and each time he did so, it managed to sound a little more foreign to her. It was someone else's name now. Someone else's life. "Sansa..."

"I thought I was Alayne," she said, finally speaking at long last. Her voice was flat and dead. "I thought Sansa was _dead._" The Hound reached for her again, silently pleading for her to look his way, but the gentleness of his concern only caused her to recoil. "I _do not_ wish to be touched," she said, every muscle in her body going tight.

"Then look at me," he rasped.

"No."

The wind whistled, momentarily blowing a cold sheet of rain straight through them. A hard shudder went through her, and another one was quick to follow. Perhaps, she thought vaguely, it was a sob wanting escape. But no, it couldn't be. After all, she was too dry inside to cry—too dead.

They stood in silence for a while. Soon the rain let up, although the clouds promised that more was to come. The world was grey and black everywhere she looked. Grey and black, like the colours of her fallen house. Her home. A thought struck her then. Perhaps the Seven Kingdoms would find peace, now that Joffrey was dead. A part of her wished so badly to believe this, craved to believe it. But _she_ knew better, and Sansa Stark, the girl who dreamed, _was _dead. It was simply Alayne now. A dog's wife.

"What do you regret most?" she suddenly asked, blurting out the question before she'd even thought of asking it.

Beside her the Hound shifted his weight, grunting softly as he did so. "Regret?" he said, and Sansa could hear his frown without having to look over at his terrible burned face. He grumbled to himself. "Only that my brother's still breathing."

It was Sansa's turn to frown. Only, she was no longer Sansa, and so her frown was more ponderous than it was disapproving. "Perhaps one day…" she said, trailing off.

"No," he rasped, and she could _hear _the regret in his voice. "I can't fight now, not with this bloody leg."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa glanced down at Sandor Clegane's brown breeches, thinking about the awful wound beneath them. The battle wound that had won him acclaim at court. The wound that had almost killed him. She nervously chewed her lip. "Well, I regret ever loving Joffrey."

The Hound chuckled dark and joylessly. "That wasn't love, little bird."

"It was so," she said. "For a time."

He grumbled again. "Call it what you will," he rasped indifferently.

Anger suddenly stabbed at her. _As though you would know anything about love! _she almost snapped, but instead she kept her mouth shut. For the Hound _did _know love, somehow. He showed it to her each night, in the black cloak of darkness, as together they lived out the story of Florian and Jonquil. Sansa felt like laughing and crying all at once. _Jonquil by night, Alayne by day. _She truly was dead.

Not wishing to think of that now, she looked up at the clouds, which threatened to open up again, and soon. "Do you think we'll ever make it to Braavos?" she wondered aloud. "Do you think the ship can hold?"

"We'll make it," he said, "as will this vessel."

That answer disappointed her greatly. Sansa finally turned to look at him. In her sadness, his scars didn't look so bad, although they were still hideous. Maybe she was just used to them now. Or maybe, like everything else, she simply no longer cared. "Sandor," she said softly, "do you ever imagine what it would be like to be dead?"

His expression hardened. "Dead is dead," he said. Then, with his good leg, he briefly stomped on the wood of the deck. "Like this plank."

Sansa shook her head. "You're wrong. What of the heavens?"

He snorted. "What of them?"

"My parents are there," she said softly. "My brothers, too. And Arya." She chewed her lip, thinking. "Perhaps your parents are there as well. Wouldn't that please you, if they were?"

"Bloody hell," he grumbled under his breath.

"Well, wouldn't it?" she asked, growing angry. "Do you not with to see them again?"

He shrugged. "They've been dead a long time. I'm used to it. One day, you will be too."

"That's callous."

He shrugged again. "So be it. You're all that matters now."

Sansa went stiff once more. He wasn't supposed to say things like that, not in the daylight. Not when they were Sansa and the Hound. Still... Something very low in her belly started to throb. She looked away from his face, back out towards the never-ending sea, the lonely place where this Jonquil had found life. _Do you love me? _she wanted to ask him. _Do you _truly_ love me? _No one else in the world did. She almost _did _ask it, but she knew better. This was not the place for such questions. She closed her eyelids and took a deep breath, welcoming the blank darkness she found there.

After a few moments the Hound pulled her against him, drawing her into the strength of his embrace. The warmth of his body emanated from under his damp clothes, heating her almost immediately. "Let's go under," he rasped softly, his twitching mouth pressed gently to her ear.

Sansa nodded numbly. She did not open her eyes. "Yes," she muttered to herself. "Let's go under…"


End file.
